Wanderer Part 8

Wanderer Part 8:

Elise dreamt of her home. She felt the chill of the wood on her bare feet, traced the imperfections, smelled the faint traces of breakfast. She heard the odd sound of voices. Millie knew better than to bring a friend from town without asking.

“My god, girl, you’ll hurt yourself with that thing.”

The man’s voice was foreign, but familiar. Memories tried to tell her who he was, but the moment was too complete, too perfect for her to acknowledge anything else. 

She peeked through the door and saw the stranger, that man who saved Millie from death, gently taking a knife from her hand. 

“I wanted to practice my name!” Millie protested. 

“And you couldn’t find a better way to practice than carving it on a table? There must be something better around here.” 

“Like what?”

“You’re asking me? It’s your house.”

“You’re the grown up!”

The man, Jerrick was his name, carefully crossed his arms in mock thought, tucking the knife away. 

“I suppose you’re right about that. Hmm, well I’m sure we’ll think of something. But first, we need to do something about this table.”

Millie bowed her head, realizing how much trouble she was in, but Jerrick smiled. “I’d suggest we leave it, but carving the first letter of your name leaves little doubt who is at fault, and we don’t want your mother finding out, do we?”

The little girl’s head popped up with a cheeky grin. “You won’t tell?” 

Jerrick took the knife out again and started to carve into the table next to the ‘M’. Millie gasped as the man worked, leaving a J next to it. 

“‘J’,” he said. “For Jerrick.” 

“But now you’ll get caught too!”

Jerrick raised an eyebrow at her. Oh?” He set back to carving, adding curves to the letters, making a unique shape out of something so simple. “I come from a place where artists like to leave signatures in their work. Really it was just another way for them to make a name for themselves. I’ve always thought it took away from the art more than anything but when kept a secret, it can add something only the artist knows. So only you and I will ever know who really carved this on the table. Huh, what do you think?”

Millie stared in silent wonder. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered. “Can I try?” 

“Sure, with some charcoal on paper. I’m sure your mother has some around.

Elise watched Jerrick as her daughter ran off. He smiled after her with a fondness she had not seen in many people. Millie had a way of grating on the nerves that so few could handle and here was a man who turned her path of destruction into art. 

He told her about the table that night when she came home. He showed her the carving and offered to buy a cloth to cover it, fearing it ruined. But the table and carving remained, ready for any visitors to see, until the moment that…

Memories broke through. 

Jerrick told her about the carving. She wasn’t there. 

He turned to face her in the doorway. 

“Elise,” he whispered as flames erupted in the house. Each flicker of orange forced her to relive another moment. 

Meridian.

Orson.

Jerrick.

The forest.

Pain.

“Elise, you need to find her. There isn’t much time. They will come for her. The Knight can’t protect her forever. Not alone.”

No… that was supposed to be over. She died. She died in that damned forest. 

“Open your eyes, Elise.” 

Elise opened her eyes. Cold pine needles bit into her cheeks. Her blurry vision slowly resolved into shapes until… Until she saw something. 

A tree, not ten feet away. A tree with a carving, something no one would recognize. Not unless they knew what to look for.